


Shieldmaiden

by The_Plaid_Slytherin



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon, Swords, Young Eowyn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-02 13:37:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21162521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Plaid_Slytherin/pseuds/The_Plaid_Slytherin
Summary: Éowyn receives some unexpected help in her training.





	Shieldmaiden

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Wavesinger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Wavesinger/gifts).

It was so early it could not even be termed predawn. It was just night. 

Éowyn kept to the shadows as she slipped through the great doors of Meduseld. The guards were making their rounds, and they didn't see her as she dashed across the yard, the moon her only guide. It was a circuitous path to the armory to avoid being spotted, and Éowyn regarded this, too, as a kind of training. A girl could be stealthier than a big man clanking about with weapons and armor. Surely her uncle would realize this when she showed him how good she had become. And _that_ would require training. 

She pushed open the door of the armory, breathing in its comforting scent. Leather, metal, and a not-unpleasant dusty sort of smell. What she sought was at the back. 

She pulled down one of the wooden practice swords her brother used, savoring the heft of it in her hands. 

She swung it experimentally. It whiffed pleasantly through the air. _Whiff. Whiff._ She stepped forward, swinging her sword carefully. With no one to spar with, it could hardly be called training, but she had watched Éomer every day at his lessons and she knew what sorts of things the boys did.

She thrust, jabbed, and blocked invisible opponents. She jumped and spun, imagining hordes of orcs. 

_Thwack!_

Her sword hit something solid. 

"You wound me, lady," said Théodred, affecting a grimace. "I am quite dead, I assure you." 

Éowyn dropped her sword. "Cousin! I didn't know you were there." 

"That I supposed." He was smiling in the light from the lantern he held. "What are you up to, little cousin?"

Éowyn lowered her sword. She hated sneaking about, but she could not lie to Théodred who was so bold a warrior and had been so good to her and Éomer who were orphans. 

"I'm practicing," she said with as much dignity as she could muster. "To be a warrior." 

"I have never known a warrior who took all his practice alone in the dark." 

"Warriors who are _he_ do not need to," Éowyn said scornfully. 

"You are quite right, lady." Théodred looked like he was deep in thought. Éowyn waited for his pronouncement. The last thing she wanted was for him to tell her should could not practice… Théodred would not do that, would he? 

"Then you must have help," he concluded. "You cannot progress past swinging wildly in the dark without a teacher. Although your methods are very effective should your enemy pass within your reach." 

"I haven't got a teacher. Éomer says the master won't take me." 

"Then you must have someone better." 

She was about to ask who that could be when he took her sword from her. "Your first lesson—this is how we hold a sword. This is wood but on real steel you will cut yourself swinging it about like that."

He handed it back to her and she held it the way he'd shown her. It _was_ more comfortable. She made a few experimental thrusts. 

"Now, I will show you a few more positions. Practice those, and I will show you more. I expect perfection, mind you. It is not an easy task. You may run screaming back to your needlework."

Éowyn didn't think so. It would have to be truly loathsome to make her prefer needlework. "I will be perfect."

"Good." Théodred mussed her hair. "I expected no less of you."


End file.
